A Sudden Change Of Heart
by Ataokoloinona
Summary: Because after all in the end, even he knew that nothing lasted forever.


This story was written for AmIOtaku because she told me that broody men were sexy, like Sasori, or something along those lines. Maybe if I'm lucky she'll draw something for me with all her dozens of sharpie pens. :) This takes place prior to the kidnap-Gaara-and-suck-out-his-soul arc. Nobody has been brought back to life by the writing of this one-shot. Just to clarify lol.

* * *

"Danna, my feet hurt, un."

...

"Danna, I'm serious give me back my fucking clay!"

...

Deidara humphed and turned away, irritated by the silence, or more likely by the total apathy to his whining. Muttering under his breath something incomprehensible, but which sounded suspiciously like "bastard" or "unfair, un", the Whelp kept walking. Not that he cared. The Whelp needed to calm down and at least pretend to act his age. He never seemed to understand the difference between "espionage" and "blow-everyone-the-fuck-up-and-ask-questions-later". It was a serious lack and grated very hard on his nerves. Or whatever sense of emotion he had left.

He prided himself on his lack of humanity. If you could call it pride. Deidara just called it stupid, but he was too young to understand that sentiments like heroism, or villainy, anger, or just plain exuberance were traits that typically led to death. However this was Deidara he was talking about, the Whelp practically thrived on anything that had the potential of death, or extreme bodily harm, hanging about it. It was something he just couldn't understand.

No. That wasn't entirely true. If he was honest with himself it was because he was afraid of death. Or not exactly death but the thought of the end. And not exactly fear, but suspicion or apprehension. To him the value of things was in the way they lasted. Beauty was in things that could stand through time and still be strong. Like metal and stone, like earth and tree and sky. These things were eternal. No. No they weren't eternal, but they were as close as anything on this earth was to everlasting.

That was why he had shaped this new body from wood and string and steel. These things would last. They would last like flesh would not and although he had sacrificed much to last he still counted it worth the effort.

"When are we stopping, yeah? My feet are killing me!"

...

"You can't ignore me forever Danna! You have to give me my clay back sometime."

...

"I know, un." Deidara turned a narrowed eye and a small smirk on him. "You're jealous because you've realized how amazing my art is, yeah! You've had a revelation that fleeting bursts of passion beat the hell out of your splintery excuse for a face, un!"

"Brat." He attached a thread to the Whelp's hand and smacked him upside his insolent, smarmy head.

"Wow Danna, I didn't know you cared, yeah." Deidara rubbed his hand against his now red cheek, but he was still smiling. It appeared that he was in one of his moods. More specifically he was in the mood where he felt everything was hilarious and had an obsessive and immature need to provoke anyone in the near vicinity. Which meant that, out here in the middle of no where, that was him.

He mentally sighed and for the sake of peace, or at least some semblance of quiet, lifted a small blob of clay out of the Whelp's pack and flung it to him on a thread.

"Go explode something or whatever will make you quiet."

"Aww, un, you really do care Danna." And he immediately stuffed the clay into the palm of his hand and simultaneously turned and ran out into the dessert.

Sasori on the other hand gazed out after him with a look of utter boredom and, to those that knew what to look for, something akin to affection or perhaps just irritation. With Sasori it was hard to tell, he was made of wood after all.

And with a barely contained sigh he heard the near deafening explosion a few minutes later and turning he saw a massive geyser of sand burst up into the sky. He didn't want to know what the Brat had destroyed, and he didn't want to know how he had managed so much destruction with such a small clot of clay. Turning back to the east he continued on his way, as long suffering as ever, he wouldn't wait for the Whelp to catch up.

~O~

"You know what I think Danna?" The Whelp was standing with his back to him facing the distant horizon. The sun was setting and the stars were just starting to show in the darkening haze of night. It was quiet all around but for the sounds of their cloaks rustling in the wind and the faint tinkle of chimes. It was a night where anyone would feel their aloneness in the world.

...

"I think that the stars are really giant explosions way off in space, and that really they just last so long because they are so huge, yeah. What do you think of that?"

... "Hn."

"You think so too, un?"

"... It may be possible."

"You know what that would mean, yeah?"

...

"That would mean that both kinds of our art was in the same place, un. That would mean we were both right, yeah."

...

He sat in his tree momentarily stunned. "Both of their art in the same place". The Brat never ceased to surprise him. Here was this child, who's greatest aspiration was to blow himself up in his "greatest work of art ever,un!" and he just admitted that they were both right. He was still proud but he wasn't as stiff and unrelenting as he himself was. The Whelp was like a tree that instead of standing straight against the wind, bent. He didn't know if it was because the Whelp was young or whether it was because he was just an open, trusting child. He made him feel so old.

But what if he was right? Even he knew that nothing lasted forever, but could their ideals both be contained in one place? Exist together? He looked down at his hand and in the near darkness traced it's outline with his eyes. If there had been more light then the dimming sunset over the horizon he would have been able to see the almost imperceptible lines of his wooden joints. His hand was made of wood and steel. His hand was made of things that lasted, yet could be destroyed. His body lasted and yet could be destroyed. He had destroyed his body to create it again... and again... and again...

And yet again he found himself watching the Whelp intently as he carelessly flung his sleeping roll out underneath his tree. The Brat who was so young, seemed also to be wise as well, and noisy. Maybe there was an equal amount of beauty in things that passed by in a flash of time. He watched as the Whelp dropped with a grunt and then a sigh on his makeshift bed and twisted about until he was comfortable. The way he prepared for bed reminded him of a happy dog.

In fact the Whelp behaved like a dog in man's clothing most of the time. He was forgetful, sometimes he would forget to sleep when making new creations with his clay, though he would never forget to eat. He was quick to anger and yet as soon as the target was out of sight he would be back to his stupid, loud, passionate self. For example, he only remembered that he wanted to kill Itachi when Itachi was around. It was rather pathetic really. Generally the Whelp was too hasty with everything. Rushing into things thinking that he was invincible, or perhaps rushing in merely not thinking things through at all. It was that exuberance that shaped the Whelp the most, he thought. Like a happy dog with a bone.

With a rare small smile he extended a single glowing blue strand of chakra and attached it to a twist of the Brat's hair. It seemed the Whelp was already asleep. With a graceful flick of his wrist he wrenched the Whelp's hair ferociously.

"_What the fuck, yeah_?" He was up in a heart beat and roughly rubbing his wounded head. He spun around a few times and then suddenly stopped.

"What the hell Danna, yeah?"

"Don't just assume I'm going to stand watch over you Whelp." He released a few more strands and idly played with the Whelp's arms and fingers, twisting them about in elegant patterns. He knew it annoyed the Whelp to no end to be trifled with.

"And why shouldn't I stump-butt, hmm? It's not like you're gonna sleep anyway, yeah." He flinched every time a thread moved him against his will, but Sasori didn't stop playing with him.

"Hmm. Perhaps because I'd like to see your final "masterpiece". Though my offer still stands if you want it."

He watched in amusement as the Whelp shuddered and severed his tie to all the threads, though it was useless, the threads only drifted slowly back to him. "I do _not_ want to be a freak stump-butt like you Danna, yeah, no_ way_."

"It's a pity, you would have made a lovely doll."

"Have I ever told you just how creepy you are sometimes, un?"

"It's not my fault you look like a girl." He smirked as the Whelp angrily thrust his hands down to his hips and then flailed his fingers around fruitlessly searching for the clay that wasn't there. The Brat was just so forgetful sometimes.

"Go to sleep. We'll reach our destination tomorrow."

He was met with more incomprehensible grumbling but the Whelp threw himself down once more, mumbling, "Just don't mess with my hair anymore Danna, it's weird, un."

He audibly huffed and tucked himself deeper into the branches of his tree.

~O~

"How can you stand being up there, un?"

...

The Brat was not a morning person, and awoke every day without fail to say something terse. He looked down on him and noted his scruffy hair, the bags under his eyes and the fine shadow of stubble on his chin. No, Deidara was not a pretty person in the morning. He quietly grinned to himself.

"Laugh it up all you want Danna but one of these days you're going to fall off and break your ass, yeah!"

Sasori snorted and slowly extended every one of his joints, moving them back and forth, momentarily forgetting the Whelp. It was a slightly time consuming process, but extremely important. Any number of things could inhibit his moving freely. Although his craft of puppets was arguably the best, it was not perfect, like anything else in the world. He had to be careful of the cold, sand, grit, or dirt, water. Any number of things could seep into his joints and cause damage, "stretching" was necessary to make sure everything was working properly the next day.

"Danna? Do you ever eat anything, un?"

He paused. What? Where did that come from?

...

"Would you just answer this one, un?"

"No, I photosynthesize."

"You know, on top of being a creep your jokes aren't funny either."

...

He would never admit it to the Whelp, but he was the reason he showed emotion on his face at all. Soon after Orochimaru had deserted the Whelp had been chosen for him, why? He didn't know. If he had been in a position to choose he would have chosen a close range fighter so as to be able to work in tandem. However surprisingly he and the Whelp worked well with each other. But at first he had found the Whelp irritating to the point where he had considered killing him as Kakuzu had done to his numerous early partners. However that was not the way he conducted himself and in any case it was much easier to manipulate than to act independently and had let things follow their own course. After some time he had grown almost fond of the Brat, until he had "accidentally" detonated his head. "Testing" was what he had called it.

That had been the first of many surprises. That the Whelp had the courage, or more likely the stupidity, to try and kill him he had decided to show emotion on his face. His new head had been a work of art, as intricate as the inside of a clock, he could now show any emotion as subtly as he wanted to on his face.

He would never tell a soul of his new alterations however. It wouldn't do.

No, he found he had come to like the Whelp, Deidara, and perhaps he was right.

He watched as the light of a new day spilled over the sands of his old abandoned home. Perhaps his change had been a mistake, or at the very least he had attempted to calm his fears by stalling the inevitability of death. And really, the moment he had created his first chakra string, the moment he had first decided that he liked how if felt he had actually created his own personal brief flash of passion, as Deidara would say. His own star.

Because after all, in the end, even he knew that nothing lasted forever.


End file.
